


Happy at Home

by lover_of_blue_roses



Series: Johnica Week 2020 [7]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Adorable, Cute, F/M, Fluff, Johnica Week 2020, Loving Unborn Child, Pre ANATO, Pregnancy, Sheffield Hate, Songwriting, Writing of You're My Best Friend, loving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22328722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lover_of_blue_roses/pseuds/lover_of_blue_roses
Summary: John knows he needs to write a song for the next album but he just can't figure it out so Freddie sends him home to spend time with his wife and then 'somehow' he manages to find inspiration.
Relationships: John Deacon/Veronica Tetzlaff
Series: Johnica Week 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1602112
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11
Collections: Johnica Week 2020





	Happy at Home

John hadn't really written songs before. There had been that one but that had only been because Brian was so deathly ill and Roger was on his case about writing one. So Deaky had weaponized that story that had been going around and that had so horrified Roger at the implication. But he couldn't always write songs dissing his friend's love or rather sex life although he could think of a scathing thing to write about David Minns or hell even Brian.

Which is why he sat slumped into the ratty old couch, slowly allowing it to eat him as the cushions swallowed up his weight. He stared mindlessly at the planks that made up the ceiling. Nothing was passing through his head but the vague thought that he just wanted to leave to have supper.

Freddie came bustling in dressed as extraordinarily as ever. It wasn't surprising that even as they fought with their record label and faced possible unemployment that Freddie was still in his fancy dress, after all he had dressed like that when he was a student without a penny so clearly he was resourceful and thrifty. "Why dear whatever are you doing? Is something wrong?" Freddie asked as he dramatically took off his gloves as he removed his scarf that he was wearing like a boa.

John couldn't help but to smile at the sight, there was really no one else like Freddie in the whole world. "Just trying to do what the band is asking of me," he gestures to the completely empty pad on paper of the coffee table, "And try to write a song."

"Ahh," Freddie says dramatically shaking his hair loose and free of the drizzling rain. "While I'm always happy to see you so hardworking and diligent-"

"Can you imagine if all four of us arrived on time and-"

"The end of times my dear," Freddie dismisses that ridiculous proposal, Deaky simply asks too much but he does suppose in their defense, they do get all their work done eventually, just after much perfectionism and tardiness. "Now what I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," and he bops the poor bassist on his nose, "Is that I don't see how you're ever going to get any work done here."

Deaky looks around the quiet, windowless, perfectly sound-insulated room that EMI provides as their break room. "You understand I am about to have a child at home right? An infant? Who's only means of communication will be screaming and crying. Is it not better that if I do start to song writing, I get used to say doing it here."

"Now, now, that's no way to talk about Roger when I know you love him so." They both laugh helplessly at that. "I know for a fact that this young Deacon will coo mostly adorably and do you know how I know that? He'll certainly never coo for me. No, rather it's because his father," he jabs at Deaky, "Who wouldn't stop gushing about the tote. I'll have to hear about every time he giggles or squeals."

Deaky doesn't feel shame per se but he is a little chagrined to hear it quite so plainly. He knows that Freddie doesn't give a toss about the pregnancy's every detail the same way he doesn't care about Brian's odes to the intricacy of stardust, but he's a good friend and good listener regardless.

Freddie wraps an arm around Deaky, "You know I don't mind, I'm teasing your griping like some suffering old man-"

"In my day I had to walk three miles, both ways, in the snow-"

"Stop, alright, alright, I get it-" Freddie counters as he tries to suffocate his bandmate with a cushion. "Anyways, this place is depressing and should be condemned, I was thinking if you really can't and don't want to work at home, try somewhere less depressing like I don't know a park?" John looks as meaningfully as he can at Freddie's still wet and dripping presence before him. Freddie just swats his arm, "Weather permitting obviously but there is still like the library or the train station, or whatever it is that fits your fancy. A lingerie shop-"

"Must be mistaking me for Roger-"

"Okay fine then, an electronics store, one where they have all those circuits bare and _exposed_ ," he said in a disconcertingly sultry tone of voice.

"Ew, I'm not looking to get electrocuted either."

Freddie raises a brow in alarming question, "That's what bothers you about that suggestion."

"No- shove off, obviously you wanker I'm not- You know what, you're right-"

"Generally am."

"I'm going to do this at home."

Freddie didn't actually look displeased at this although his brow furrowing slightly. "Got anything to write on there?"

Deaky looked questioningly back at their lead singer. There was the obvious pad that was still untouched, not to mention it was home? What did Freddie live like an animal without even a scrap of paper and was forced to write on his toilet paper if he forgot?

Freddie made a motion with his fingers like he was banging on a keyboard before changing to miming shredding on a guitar. "Oh yeah," John mumbled as he bit a hangnail on his thumb, he hadn't even thought of that as he had yet to approach a melody. Freddie left for presumably the storage room.

He came back with Harris, the both of them caring the light though cumbersome Wurlitzer electric piano that EMI had given to Freddie for their live shows. Freddie hated it's electronic, tingy noise and was constantly demanding a 'real' piano. John understood where their pianist was coming from, although he'd argue it's sound wasn't bad so much as different from Freddie's desired expectation.

They placed it down and Harris shook himself like a dog. He was soaked from rain which must have been coming in a downpour, "It getting that bad out there?"

"Oh yeah it's really starting to come down and it's supposed to storm tonight."

"Better be getting where you're going before the wind fells some trees then," Freddie says almost as though he's trying to get rid of him as soon as possible. Deaky raises a questioning eyebrow, concerned that his bandmates will try to prank someone or trash the executives' offices, but Freddie just bats his doe-y brown eyes like he's never done any wrong.

"My van's on the lot," Deaky said referring to the EMI building's underground parking. "Wouldn't even be needing an umbrella."

"Your flat got a lot too?" Harris questioned as he picked up the far end of the Wurly.

Deaky sighed while Freddie grunted in seething hatred. "No, no he does not. He doesn't have jack in that shithole-" Deaky's place isn't that bad, it was really perfectly acceptable before Ronnie got pregnant, "But does Norman or those asshat care? No! Those wankstains would rather keep- Nay! Steal our money, our hard-earned money while those waste of spaces just sit on their fat arses and-"

Harris turns to Deaky, tuning out Freddie's vitriol as he is both unable to help for that matter and already on their side. "We can try cutting up some rubbish bags and covering it up a little."

"Yeah that works for me," Deaky replies also ignoring Freddie's passionate rant. It's not that he's not right and that Deaky doesn't think something needs to be done about it, but Roger and Freddie can scream about it on their own time.

Deaky with the help of their roadie manages to wrap up the Wurly well and easily with the presence of the elevator get it loaded up in the back of the Silver Bullet. He drives slowly under the pouring rain, his windshield wipers barely doing anything to help him see.

At least his flat is not too poorly situated and soon he parks in his street as he always does. Rather than exit by the driver's side door, he pops out the back as he struggles to carry the large cumbersome thing to his stoop. He has to return under the freezing rain to close the van's trunk and lock it. He then runs back to shelter, trying to shake off the terrible water that is running in rivulets everywhere under his clothes and into his boots.

Here however there is no elevator and obviously, he's not going to make his seven-month pregnant wife help him. Good thing he is friendly with his neighbors. He knocks on 210's door and explains the situation. The young man that lives there is hesitant at first but eventually relents and then is pleasantly surprised that John was telling the truth about the weight of the Wurly.

John thanks the man upon finally arriving at his door. He opens the door and cries out to announce his early return from the studio, "Hi dear, I'm home early." He removes his shoes and turning them upside down on the mat for them to dry.

"Hi how was- Oh my God, you're soaked!" She hurries off waddling to get towels. "Hold on, I'll also bring you clothes, don't track that in."

"Oh, okay," he answers agreeably. And so he strips himself. Taking off his disgusting, clinging wet socks feels amazing. Although he's now shivering in the tiny cramped place. His wife quickly comes back but pauses in the corridor to give him a very appreciative once over. "See something you like?"

"More than one thing," she answers honestly as she licks her lips. Pregnancy libido is really a wondrous thing. She places the clean clothes over the vide poche and scrubs him with the towel in a -um- rather sensual manner.

Deaky then forgets all about the piano or the song he's supposed to write, focusing instead on his lovely, lovely wife. She tends to be a little self-conscious of her changing body so Deaky likes to take the time and reassures her of exactly how much he still loves her.

That evening he makes room in their tiny lounge for the piano where their Christmas tree normally goes and sits there with the blank pad, tapping away at the keys hoping for a melody to fall into his lap while the storm rages on.

"How's it coming along?" Ronnie asks as she partially hugs him from behind. He budges over on the bench where she half-sits. She looks critically at the blank page, "Imagine if that was the dish I served you tonight," she said as she crossed her arms over her apron-cad chest. "Anything would probably be better than nothing at this point." Deaky sighs, she's right but he feels so stuck and unable to get over this hump. She runs a hand through his long hair, the rainwater has caused all his straightening efforts from this morning to vanish, and now it's a curly mess again. "What did you think about last time you wrote a song?"

"I don't know, I just- It just happened. I was thinking about the band's non-existent future without Brian and I was wondering if Freddie would be on my side if I picked a fight with Roger despite being the songwriting dead weight."

"So... existential emotion?" She said with a smile that was barely holding back her laughter. His place in the universe and in the band was what Misfire was about? Okay, sure. "Don't imagine you'd be feeling anything like that again?" He sighs and she can practically hear the boys' loud complaints again Sheffield and their dissatisfaction with their label. Now it's her turn to sigh, she rubs a hand over her ballooned stomach, "Anything, anything at all?"

"Right, right," He says curling his neck and nuzzling her collarbone as his hand runs over her stomach. She kisses his brow and turns to the kitchen to finish the salad that they are to eat with the potato gratin. She can hear the sound of John playing the keyboard more meaningfully and wishes him the best of luck although she is unable to recognize a repeating pattern. Little does she know that while it is very unusual for this genre, as is characteristic of many Queen songs, there will be no section appearing more than twice.

That being said it does numerous variants in terms of phrases and measures. He creates a song who's form is cyclic without 'real' modulation. It comes to him not necessarily 'easily' but without any other major hiccups. He knows what his singing voice sounds like but he thinks that Ronnie will like to hear this one regardless. She announces when the gratin's timer goes off although the dish will still be a little too hot to eat for a few minutes, so he calls her over into their lounge. "Have you got something then?"

"Something for you," he says as he can't help but smile. He sings softly, knowing how much his off-tune voice can ruin the piece. The way he sits, his back to the room, means he can't see her expression as he plays it. His lines of 'you're my sunshine' and 'but I still come back to you in rain or shine' are perfectly punctuated by the rain still pounding at their windows and the distant crackle of thunder.

When he does turn around it's to see her crying tears of joy. He rushes over to shower her with love and kisses. "I love *love* you so much because you _are_ my best friend and I love to be with you, happy at home. I love both of you," their hands meet on her stomach as they look into each other's eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this be aware that I am doing the two other weeks as well, kink and jimercury


End file.
